


Worst Vacation Ever

by Mellorine



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Huge Gross Cock, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nathan Explosion Has a Bad Time, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24311581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellorine/pseuds/Mellorine
Summary: "Writersklok" bad end.
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Sultan Sotajumala
Kudos: 9





	Worst Vacation Ever

**Author's Note:**

> According to WordCounter, 4% of this fic is the word "fucking."

“Uh, check.” The mic was terrible, with some kind of feedback whining in his ear, but when Nathan glanced over at Pickles to complain, the look the drummer gave him made the words die in his throat.

He looked down at the notes he’d scribbled in his notebook. _Walking, bleeding, lurching, seething. Snakes. Something about snakes. Medusa? Bleed on the floor like a bitch._

Fuck. This was terrible. This wasn’t brutal. Snakes weren’t bitches, snakes were metal. And they were always on the floor so what the fuck? This was worse than any of the shit he’d sung back in the recording studio. He swallowed, looking around the room at anything he could use for inspiration, desperately avoiding looking at that fat sultan, leering at them, palming his rancid crotch.

“Dood, Nat’an, let’s go already. I ain’t suckin’ no cock tonight, you hear me?” Pickles was leaning over his drum kit, jabbing him in the back with one of his sticks. 

Nathan batted the stick away. “Fuck off, I got it.” He didn’t got it. He didn’t fucking got it at all. His stomach felt like it was eating itself and he was growing the mother of all headaches.

Skwisgaar gave him a death glare as he finished tuning the piece of garbage the sultan gave him for a guitar. “I ams not suckings no cocks tonight, you hears me?”

Murderface just gave him a constipated-looking death glare, while Toki had the biggest puppy-dog eyes Nathan had seen on the kid.

Nathan took a deep breath. “Okay, fine, whatever. Let’s go.”

Pickles threw himself into a brutal drum riff, quickly followed by the guitarists as they started in on the track they’d been working on back in the studio. Lucky bastards. They already had their parts down. 

Fuck it. Nathan snarled and grabbed the mic. “ **_Walking, bleeding, lurching, seething._ **” Yeah. He could do this. He was-- he was fucking inspired. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, his whole band’s lives on the line, riding on him not fucking this up--

His voice broke on the last syllable of “seething,” and he coughed. Fuck. He needed water. Or a beer. Or a hundred beers. A hundred beers and a fucking sandwich, fuck he was so hungry. Skwisgaar mouthed something Nathan couldn’t make out, and he threw himself into the next line. “ **_Dying from the dawn of time._ **” He felt like he was dying. He felt like he was on fire and floating in an endless ocean at the same time as blackness crawled its way in from the edges of his vision and he remembered that maybe he wasn’t dying and he was just actually really fucking hungry even though wasn’t dying and being really fucking hungry kind of the same thing and when was the last time he’d eaten anything anyway?

And then he passed out.

\---

Nathan was dreaming of cheese. That fancy French cheese that they’d get sometimes that smelled like piss, which Murderface thought was pretty cool, but actually tasted all right. God, he could eat so much piss-smelling cheese right now. Something was touching his face. A giant hand, it felt like. Had he become tiny? Had he shrunk from not eating anything other than literal garbage for like a week? That’d be pretty embarrassing, but then at least maybe he wouldn’t be so fucking fat. He was pretty sure he was still dreaming, because it still smelled like piss-cheese, but he could hear Pickles frantically whispering in his ear and it was really kind of throwing off his dream-buzz. 

“Fuck off Pickles, ‘m tryna sleep,” he mumbled. 

“Ah, my beautiful singer, she is awake!” 

Nathan frowned. That wasn’t Pickles. “Toki?” He forced open his sleep-gummed eyes. “ ‘S that y-- Fuck!”

There was a fucking horse cock in front of him. A fucking French-piss-cheese-smelling horse cock and oh fuck, they’d finished the song, right? Right?

He started to turn towards Pickles and a massive hand gripped his chin, turning him back to face that fucking _thing_. He scrunched his eyes shut, suddenly extremely aware that he was on his knees (gay), had his hands tied behind his back (gay), and that smell was going straight to his stomach and he was gonna fucking puke, or not even puke because there was nothing in his stomach, but just dry heave all over that sultan’s stupid fucking slippers.

“Ah, my poor beautiful singer, it is all right. I have overestimated you, you cannot sing but you can still suck cock, yes?”

Fucking _what?_ He was fucking _Nathan Explosion_ of fucking _Dethklok_ , of course he could fucking _sing_ \--

Something pushed against his lips and he felt his stomach heave. He kept his eyes and mouth firmly shut. _Go to your happy place, go to your happy place_. Oceans. Water. Peacefully drowning in oceans of water and whalesong.

He felt something nudge his side. Oh yeah, the rest of the band was still here, kneeling to his left and right. He slitted his eyes open, very much not looking at the dick hanging centimeters in front of his nose, and looked over at Pickles. The drummer was saying something, or at least his mouth was moving, but Nathan couldn’t hear anything beyond the blood rushing through his head and a weird ringing in his ears, like the feedback from that shitty mic.

“Nat’an. Nat’an!” 

Nathan grunted. 

“Hey Nat’an, c’mon, suckin’ cock ain’t so bad,” Pickles said. “I mean, yeah, the guy’s got a feckin’ horse cock, and he’s prolly never washed it, but, like. Dood. You’re the band leader, you gotta go first or he’s gonna start on us and I ain’t, like, mentally prepared for that shit.”

Skwisgaar chimed in from his other side. “Ja, just imagines you are at sausage festivals, eatings the delicious Vienna sausages.”

“Grosch, Skiwschgaar, that’sch scho gay. Uh, wait, I mean, yeah, you got thisch, champ!”

“Go Natens! You sucks dat--”

“Would you guys shut the fuck uggghkkkhkkgggkk--” 

Something huge and foul pushed past his lips, past his tongue, straight to the back of his throat, and Nathan could hear the sultan’s groan as he hilted himself halfway down the singer’s throat, and Nathan’s crocodile brain took over and he did the one thing he could think of.

He bit down.

Blood squirted out of his mouth and dripped down his throat as the sultan pulled himself out of Nathan’s mouth with a shriek, leaving a fair bit of skin behind. 

The sultan’s false joviality was gone, and he was clutching his fat dick, blood leaking through his fingers. Nathan spat out the skin in a damp wad onto the ground and grinned ferally up at the stupid fat fuck. Out of nowhere a hand slammed into his face, open-palmed, and his nose was gushing blood. Nathan snorted it back up into his nose but the hand came again, close-fisted this time, smashing into his nose. He felt something crunch and it was suddenly much harder to breathe. A knee rammed into his gut and his breath whistled through his nose, but he wasn’t gonna fucking open his mouth again, he’d rather suffocate on his own blood and gristle ( _there was an idea for a song, fucking finally_ ), and then the rain of blows stopped and he was left hunched over, snorting through his broken nose like a pig, glaring up at that stupid fat piece of shit sultan. 

“You wanna try that again, asshole?” He growled.

The sultan glared down at him, lust and pain and fury warring over his face. He looked up and snapped his fingers at something outside of Nathan’s field of vision, and Nathan felt something cold and metal nestle into the back of his neck. 

“Yes,” the sultan purred. “We try again. And you don’t behave like a good whore? I shoot you.” Nathan heard a gun cock, echoed by four others. “I shoot all of you.”

Nathan snarled. Fuck that. The guys’d understand. They’d totally die for him.

“Natens…,” Toki whined.

Ah, fuck.

Nathan closed his eyes again. And opened his mouth.

The sultan went slower this time, pushing just the fat head of his cock past Nathan’s lips. It tasted more like blood now, which Nathan supposed was better. Blood was brutal. The sultan grabbed a fistful of Nathan’s hair and leered down at him. “Well, slut? Suck.”

The cold metal of the gun at his neck and Toki’s pathetic whimpers made his gut churn. Skwisgaar was muttering something in Swedish. 

Fuck. He didn’t know how to do this. He wasn’t fucking gay, he didn’t know how to suck a fucking cock! Fine, he argued with himself, just pretend it’s totally different. You’re you, and some hot groupie wants to suck your dick. How did they do it? He couldn’t fucking remember, all he could think of was the sick taste of blood and sweat and rancid dick in his mouth, and his own hardening dick (what the fuck _what the fuck_ ) and Pickles’ too-even breath in his ear and Murderface’s weird humming and Skwisgaar’s mumbling and Toki’s sniffling, so he just fucking. Sucked. Like it was a popsicle.

The sultan groaned and tightened his grip in Nathan’s hair. “Good slut,” he cooed. 

Nathan licked and mouthed at the tip. God, he was gonna be fucking sick. This wasn’t-- he didn’t-- He dry-heaved around it and the sultan took the change to slide centimeter by agonizing centimeter further into Nathan’s mouth until he was full-hilted into his throat, the singer gagging and struggling to breathe through his broken, blood-clotted nose, thanking Jesus and Buddha and Satan when the sultan slid back out, and then making a noise he didn’t ever want to think about ever again when the sultan rammed back in.

He wanted to go back to his happy place but there was too much happening ( _Face Fucked_ \- was that too gay for a song title?) and all he could feel was metal at his neck, rope at his wrists, his own traitorous dick straining against his jeans, his jaw stretched wide, and the sultan’s cock heavy against his lips, tongue, and throat.

The deep, heavy thrusts were starting to become shakier until, with a few final shallow pumps, the sultan moaned and came, filling Nathan’s mouth with hot seed. It pooled on his tongue and it tasted fucking horrific, and Nathan wanted to spit it out but the sultan still had his hand fisted in Nathan’s hair and his dick in his mouth, and he could feel it starting to trickle down his throat and up into his nose, and what if it got into his sinuses or something, so he fucking swallowed like a fucking slut bitch whore while the sultan petted his hair like he was a fucking _dog_. 

Finally, fucking _finally_ , the sultan pulled his cock out of Nathan’s mouth with a grotesque pop, cum and saliva stringing between it and the singer’s bruised mouth. Nathan coughed and sucked deep breaths, ignoring the vile aftertaste of cum on his tongue, ignoring the way he could feel it pooling in his belly, his first meal in days.

Fat fingers gripped his face as the sultan lifted his chin to look at him. “You’re so talented at this!” he leered. “You will love to be in my harem! You will be the star, the queen! Your friends, I am sure they are good as well, but you, you will get to suck my cock every day! Maybe even you will get to take it up your--”

The sultan stopped short, eyes crossing to look up at his forehead as a red flower bloomed in its center, and then he toppled like a tree, crashing down on the floor, stone fucking dead. Blood splattered the ground in front of Nathan, accompanied by a horrible choking sound, and the gun was gone from the back of his neck and a knife was at his wrists, cutting through the rope. The slender hand of one of the harem women reached down, and he grabbed it, pulling himself to his feet, and watched, dazed, as the concubines stabbed and shot their way through the last of the sultan’s men.

“Phew.” Pickles stood up and clapped him on the back. “Close one, eh Nat’an?”

Nathan glared at him and rubbed the circulation back into his hands. Well that just wasn’t fucking fair.


End file.
